


The Education of Theodore Danvers

by DenseHumboldt



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Mentor/Protégé, Original Character(s), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/pseuds/DenseHumboldt
Summary: Carol is a rich American Heiress.Yon Rogg is her brother's teacher.They cannot resist the draw to one another, but nothing is simple in a young country, where old ideals and money clash with the new world.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau, Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look
> 
> Listen
> 
> I don't know what to tell you.  
> I have no self control  
> I am so suggestible  
> My spine is cooked fettuccine
> 
> I will do my best to be historically adjacent, but this is for funz not for learnz
> 
> Please comment. My brain fluid is high but my self esteem fluid is a quart low.
> 
> 💚💜❤️💙DH

An apple was lobbed at Carol Danvers. It missed, landing in the grass just beside her head. She reached for it without taking her eyes off her book, her long pale fingers searching in the grass. She was so still, except for the slow reaching of one hand, an observer from the road might have accused her of using her book more for shielding the sun than studying.

"You begged me to help you and now you are barely paying attention."

Carol found the apple and took a bite into it, ignoring Stephen as he lounged next to her on the blanket. He groaned and reached for the book, only then Miss Danvers moved. She snapped the book closed and brought it down swiftly over Stephen's head.

He fell back whining and rubbing the centre of his forehead.

"You are wicked and I have never hated anyone as I hate you."

"Next time throw a scone," she taunted around bites of apple.

"I am a poor Stable Master's son, the kitchen doesn't pack me scones. And it is not like I can tell them I am meeting the esteemed Miss Danvers. They would hang me by my toes."

Carol rolled her eyes and settled on her stomach with her apple and book. Her skirts twisted about her legs and she could feel the sun on her calves and ankles.

"And what concerns would they have? It is common knowledge you are my half brother. Even if father won't admit it yet."

"You aren't meant to know that, and neither am I. That is why they keep us apart."

"He claimed Joe eventually, I have already had to suddenly accept an older brother. What is one more? And this one is conveniently my age so he cannot claim to find me giddy and tiresome as Joe does."

"Joe had no other father. Old Danvers is unlikely to take on the expense of me when I have a living sire to pay for my living."

"What expenses? You already eat our food and cheat Joe out of a small fortune at cards. If anything, he should claim you to reduce the burden on our household accounts."

"My mother only admitted it to me so I would not be a fool about the Master's daughter."

Carol tossed her half eaten apple at him. He caught it, wiping the sweetness from his hand onto his lapel.

"How scandalous, if I were to fall in love with my secret brother."

"Do not put me off my lunch," he mocked biting into the red flesh of the apple. "My mother should have kept it to herself. Why would I set my heart on a scold like the haughty Miss Danvers? My wife will adore me and give me only half the trouble you do."

"Even half the trouble would be more than a lesser man could bear. I have made you strong."

"You have wasted my time. You brought me out here to teach you geometry and yet you are having an affair with Mr. Swift."

"He is a wittier companion."

"Do you wish for wit or to calculate one side of the triangle?"

Carol sighed and put her book aside. She reached for the slate and a worn down nub of chalk. She sketched a triangle imperfectly, with wobbling legs, beside it she wrote a simple equation.

"I can find the side, and the area," she marked another equation beside the first. Then she drew more wobbling legs, "and the volume. If you will not challenge, me I will elope with Mr. Swift."

"You think you are showing off, but this is the most basic of ideas."

She rolled to her side and propped her chin on her hand, returning studiously to her book.

"You could at least read aloud."

"I cannot read," Carol protested loudly as Stephen reached to steal her book again and she tried to hug it to her chest.

They both froze as they heard the sound of a horse's tack and hooves.

"Hide," Carol hissed, elbowing Stephen in the ribs.

"You hide. You are meant to be with your governess."

"Then wear my bonnet and shawl and keep your mouth shut."

Stephen pulled the book from her clutches just as someone called his name.

"They are looking for me. Go hide," he commanded swatting her haunch. Carol swore at him as she scrambled up and shook out her skirts as she ran for the thick oak that shaded them.

Joe Danvers came around the bend on a tall well-bred horse. He was dressed more finely than Stephen, who received Joe's worn out hand-me-downs, rather than an allowance for his own clothes.

"Hullo, Stephen" Joe called waving his crop over his head. He kicked at his horse's sides and urged him forward.

"Young Danvers," Stephen greeted him.

Stephen could see the resemblance between them, although it was not as strong as the similarity between Carol and himself. While they could be twins with their wavy blonde hair, brown eyes and proud chins; Joe was more delicate to look at. His eyes were blue and his hair ash brown. His face was narrow. He was the finer looking brother, but that was the benefit of being taken in and cared for at the big house when he was ten.

That was twelve years ago, when Stephen and Carol were both seven. Stephen had been too ignorant of his lineage to be jealous. Instead, he had only been fascinated by the boy who had appeared in the night and received a pony of his own within the week.

That hero worship soured as they grew older, as Stephen learned more of himself and Joe forgot his past as a barmaid's whelp.

"What are you doing out here?" Joe asked, leaning forward on his horse.

"Reading," Stephen lifted the book he still held in one hand.

"And what is that?"

Stephen twisted around and looked where Joe pointed and saw Carol's open parasol on the edge of the blanket. He swore under his breath as he snatched it up and notched it into his shoulder. He smiled at Joe as he turned the handle, making it spin jauntily.

"An excellent invention for keeping the heat off."

Joe looked unconvinced, he straightened and surveyed the treeline.

"If I look, I won't find some merchant's daughter with rucked up skirts hiding in the trees? It's rude to keep gentle company to yourself."

"On my honour as a man, there is only wild beasts to be found behind me. Certainly no blushing debutantes."

Joe slouched back as Stephen smiled at him winsomely, he had the tired air of housecat bored of tormenting a fly.

"Come to the house tonight," Joe commanded. "I want to play cards."

"Why not go into town?"

"Come to the house."

With that Joe rode off, his posture tense in the saddle and Stephen was acutely aware something was not being said. He cast aside the parasol and collapsed back into the grass. His heartbeat staccato against his ribs as he kept time with his fingers drumming on his stomach.

When Joe was decidedly gone, Carol burst from behind the oak. She hitched up her skirts enough she could take long strides. As soon as she reach Stephen she poked a well polished boot toe in his ribs.

"A beast?" She demanded as he groaned and rubbed his side.

"Let us go back, your governess won't sleep forever."

"Are you coming to the house tonight?" Carol asked as the moved to repack their basket.

"I have been summoned."

"Let me play too."

"No."

"We have done it before."

"In a crowded place with strangers and Joe more than half drunk. It is something different tonight."

"No, it's not. He is simply out of credit in town and forced to wait until next month's allowance."

"Just go to bed like a normal girl."

"What you know about 'normal girls' could fill a thimble."

"And you would not be half so fond of card if I didn't let you win."

"You do not."

"I do."

This argument was engrossing enough it carried them back up to the main house, past the stables where old man Davis had been living as an unknowing cuckold for the last twenty years. Diligently serving the Danvers estate as if no honour had been taken from him.

As Stephen looked at the small apartments above the stable where his father was often forced to sleep, a deep pip of rage formed in his stomach. He would take everything he could from the Danvers.

"Are you dawdling?" Carol called over her shoulder, the lacy parasol framing her lovely face. Stephen swallowed. He would wait until Carol was married and safe.

He could wait a little longer.

* * *

His leg hurt.

This observation had begun as a small thought in the corner of his mind but had grown and grown until it cloaked over his every movement like a fine gossamer veil.

He resented his mind's fixation. He wondered if his body thought through constant mental prodding the pain would be alleviated. All it did was make him feel like a lamed horse.

Yon Rogg stretched his leg out as best he could in the crowded carriage. Bodies were cramped together, everyone dizzy and weak from an extended sea voyage. He was certain they all smelled of bilge and salt but his nose was dead to it.

America. Boston. The cradle of revolution. He felt unpatriotic coming here, even though all the unrest happened sixty-two years before. Almost twice his age.

He had found himself without other options. Much like the forebearers before him, who had come here to a new and wild land. He had some kin here, but his family never spoke of them and he had not come to find them.

He had come to teach. To use his education for more than lounging around his family's estate and being walked about the room at dinners having to feign interest in marriage.

In America, he would not be the youngest son of a minor lord. He would be a professor, in plain clothes and a limited social circle. No pretense. No pressure. And no embarrassment for his family that he had no interest in parliament.

The carriage jolted and they all moved as one, bracing against some unseen obstruction. Outside there was the shouting of the driver. Yon moved the covering of the window to glance into the muddy streets. The buildings all new and proud. The streets bustled with the feeling of industry.

He thought of Shakespeare, 'O brave new world, that has such people in't.'

* * *

Carol was stopped in the hall by a maid, she had a neatly addressed letter on a silver salver. Her frustration at the doomed geometry lesson immediately evaporated. It was the effect of the even hand she had come to know so well.

"Martha, you are an angel. When I am at my gloomiest you always produce a letter," Carol teased as she plucked up the thick envelope. She could feel from the weight of it that it would be a lengthy correspondence.

"I can hardly take credit for the mail, Miss Danvers," Martha answered with a grin.

"I insist you do. We must claim every scrap of glory. Or we shall never be free."

Martha pursed her lips and said nothing. She watched the young miss bound up the stairs. She was well-meaning, but how little these butterflies understood freedom. They thought because their brief cocooning upstairs with their mamas and their governesses made them wait to flourish meant they understood what it meant to suffer.

Martha placed the tray back on the hall table, glancing back at the gleaming wood stairs Miss Danvers had disappeared up. At least, she thought, at least the girl wanted to give them all glory.

Carol burst through the door of her bedroom, the noise startled her governess, who was asleep in a dark Cherry wood rocking chair. The woman spluttered awake.

"I was not asleep."

Carol crossed to her with quick steps and wrapped her arms around her neck. She pressed their cheeks together with more affection than she had ever shown her mother.

"I would never make such a false charge against you, Hetty. Are you enjoying the sunshine?"

"Where have you been that your hem is filthy?" Hetty leaned back to take Carol in from head to toe.

"Only down the lane. I have a letter."

Hetty grumbled as Carol sat on her bed, reclining against the pillows with her legs swinging off the edge.

"Do you have no consideration for those that wash your sheets? I should make you do a turn in the laundry room but you might start a revolt."

The chair creaked and thudded against the floorboards as Hetty got up. She knelt in front of Carol and began to tug at her boot buttons.

"It takes so long for a letter to reach here from Ohio and yet Maria's timing is always impeccable. She knows just when I will need her. I wonder if she has the Sight."

"It's unnatural to exchange letters with a stranger. You will get yourself ransomed."

"Maria is not a stranger, the only thing that separates our hearts is distance. We are completely in one another's confidence."

"Then what does she look like?"

"That does not matter."

"What if she is a man looking to fool you."

"Then when we meet I will marry her, as I have never met a man as sensitive and intelligent as her."

"What if she is poor?"

"Then my only regret is the postage on this letter must be a burden to her," Carol murmured as she read. She turned the page around and around as Maria wrote not just across the paper but perpendicular so each page was two. It was a long letter and Carol yearned to be alone with it. "Hetty, may I have tea?"

"I am not your maid, I am your governess. Ring for tea, if you wish for it."

Carol pouted over the edge of her letter, her eyes as wide and sweet as a calf's. "You make it better though. I want Hetty tea."

"You want to be alone with your letter."

Carol laughed, her face losing its innocence immediately. "I do."

"I will ring for tea and read my own book, but mark my words you will practice piano this afternoon."

"I will play it poorly," Carol protested.

"If only public shame was a deterrent to you, but you are too stubborn."

Carol laughed, starting the letter over so she could enjoy it a second time.

"I never learned to be embarrassed of who I am. Most likely the effect of my education at the hands of a wise governess."

Hetty put aside the boots and swatted at Carol's legs until she pulled them up onto the bed. Hetty fought her smile at her charge's outlandish compliment.

"You pour honey too easily, you will get a mouthful of flies."

"If you can mislead your opponent into underestimating you then your victory will have double the sweetness. What better guise is there against society than perceived innocence and lack of guile?"

"Generals put less thought into their movements than you, child," Hetty prodded her as she returned to the rocker. She picked up her book where it had fallen to the floor as she dozed.

"If I had been a son, I would have a stunning military career."

"If you had been a son your father could stop wasting money on young Danvers and get some rest."

"Father has a competent son, he chooses to ignore him, but I have no interest in the Mill. I want to go to University."

"Hold your tongue," Hetty scolded, looking about as if an eavesdropper might be hiding behind the drapes. "The Mill keeps you in gowns and food. You should be grateful instead of making unfounded accusations about your father's fidelity."

Carol did not answer, she only hummed politely as Maria's words pulled her in with promises of a beautiful future in Ohio, where she could study to her heart's content, far from a city where the name "Danvers" held any meaning beyond her own accomplishments.

She would make it there, come hell or high water, and Maria would be the one to rescue her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are off to the races!
> 
> I hope you guys are having fun too 😛
> 
> Leave me some love or some creative insults
> 
> 💜❤️💙💚DH

Carol stuffed her hair up into a cap. Her maid had brushed out the curls and braided it neatly for her to go to bed. This made the task easier as when it was unbound her hair was wild and snagged. It would not do to have golden ringlets poking out.

She had already shucked her flouncy, aggravating night dress and pulled on one of Stephen's old shirts. It had not fit him in three summers but it was loose enough on Carol to hide the natural curves of her body. She had resented growing into such a decidedly womanly figure. She had no interest in being an object of men's desire and if she had been plainer she might have had an easier time of it.

She buttoned the fall front of her trousers, another gift from Stephen's boyhood, and tugged a coat on over top. Even though it was summer she added a thin flannel muffler around the neck to aid in the disguise.

Once she was dressed, all she needed to do was shimmy out the window onto the branches of the tree that almost touched the eaves of the house. Then she would climb down and go out to the back kitchen where Joe held court when his allowance ran dry.

* * *

Stephen Davis crossed the packed dirt yard between the main house and the back kitchens. He could see the lamps had already been lit and long shadows stretched from the windows. The glass was warped and only the vaguest silhouettes moved behind the panes but he thought there might be three of them inside.

Stephen gripped his cane slightly harder. It was a foppish accoutrement, not one that fit with his character or style of dress, but it was solid with a polished brass tip. In a fight, it could be used as a cudgel.

He may be making a dire over assessment of a benign invitation, issued in broad daylight by a man Stephen had known most of his life, but he could not shake the feeling more was at play. That was why he had told Carol not to come.

He reached the back kitchen door and rapped on the wood three times before opening the well-oiled hinges.

The lamps were low, barely enough to illuminate the table and not much else. Joe was seated at the head of the long rectangular prep table, it had deep gouges in it from years of cutting and cooking. On either side of Joe were locals, Starkey, the son of Danvers' Mill foreman, and John Terrance, the second son of a Cooper. Not rich company, but each built like an ox compared to Joe.

In the dark, was the bustling of a scullery maid. Stephen bristled as he recognized Charlotte, the plump assistant to the cook. She was shy and barely above sixteen years, her face having the roundness of youth not quite grown out of childhood.

"What are you doing here, Lottie?" He asked in a low dark voice as he discarded his coat on the back of the chair. The girl jumped and tankards rattled against each other.

"Nevermind her, Davis, she has agreed to play barmaid for the evening," Joe answered as Lottie carried a tray of drinks to the table. The light illuminating her pale face with its high flush. Joe looked at her, his eyes the colour of steel in the low light. He reminded Stephen of sharks he had seen, hooked by their tail on the pier. "Lottie is the accommodating type."

His stooges chuckled, lighting cheroots and taking their drinks.

"Go," Stephen commanded. Lottie turned to leave, but Joe caught her apron strings.

"Stay."

"Go home, Lottie," Stephen insisted. He did not look at her but held the eyes of his half brother. Joe blinked first.

"Fine, leave if Davis is so undone by women being about. We should find your light skirt from this afternoon and have her serve us."

"You are mistaken, I was alone this afternoon."

"Then you serve us.

"As you have everything for the moment, should we play a hand? Cards were our reason for coming, were they not?"

"I want to bid high tonight. I am feeling lucky."

Joe and the others produced bank notes. Stephen threw his coin purse onto the table.

"I said 'high', Davis."

"Then one of you will have to give me credit to start. As you know, I am not so blessed in my accounts."

"I will spot you," Joe said too readily. He produced from his pocket a ready made note. Scrawled across it was 'S. Davis owing ten dollars to J. Danvers jr.' The sum was enough to make Stephen's skin crawl. He felt a trap was closing in around him. "Do you agree?"

"I'll spot you, Brother," a high reedy voice called from the door. Stephen's heart dropped. He did not dare turn around. Joe's eyes narrowed.

"I don't remember inviting your half pint brother."

"Teddy, leave," Stephen managed around a leaping pulse and a shrinking throat. He would not look away from Joe.

Carol came beside him, her head just above his shoulder. He clenched his fists and fought the urge to drag her out of whatever nest of vipers she had followed him into. She threw onto the table a healthy stack of bills. Money she had won off Joe and the others time and time again in the tavern. She never spent it but kept it in her dresser like a hunter might keep a trophy of a kill. It was all here now, spilling across the table making the others lean back in surprise; their eyes gleamed with greed.

"Let the whelp stay," Starkey grunted as he drew in a lungful of smoke. "He has coin enough to share with his brother and lose to us."

"Fine," Joe breathed, but his look was one of a hawk who had lost a rabbit in the brush. He lit the promissory note on fire in the lamp and dropped it still burning into Terrance's tankard. If the bull of a man minded he showed no sign of it.

They dealt the cards in terse silence, Stephen glanced over to Carol. She had a smug smile on her face. He could shake her for not realizing whatever it was she had walked into.

Carol could feel the effervescent bubbles of excitement moving up her limbs. She loved tricking Joe. She loved beating him at something he took pride in. She could tell by Stephen's posture, he was angry at her. She had deliberately ignored his instructions, but even sober Joe did not recognize her as anyone other than Stephen's imaginary younger brother, Theodore Davis. They had met like this before, there was no reason for Joe to suspect the high-voiced youth was in fact his own simpering sister.

She shuffled the cards above her hand, they were good. She bet high. High enough the others folded. Not Joe. He threw in his bid and knocked his empty mug on the table. Stephen stood and grabbed the jug of beer from the counter. He refilled the mugs of Joe and his friends. Carol was so busy watching his quiet subservience she did not realize Joe had beaten her until Starkey began laughing loudly.

"Bad luck, Davis. You seemed so certain too," Joe sneered as he collected his winnings.

"Can't win 'em all," Carol shrugged, keeping her accent rough.

"No, it will be a short night if you keep playing that way."

The night wore on, they all began to sweat in the poorly ventilated building. Starkey and Terrance shrugged off their coats. Only Joe and Carol kept theirs on. Stephen won some hands, as did Carol but Joe was playing well. He seemed possessed by some devilish notion. It lit his eyes and kept him from drinking as heavy as he normally would. Or perhaps, he only drank when he was losing.

Terrance and Starkey's coffers were emptied as the pile in front of Joe grew. Carol had more left than Stephen. Joe was dealing, his eyes focused on his younger brother. He seemed hell bent on clearing him out. Carol was confused by it, it was a pointed revenge for all the times the Davises had lightened his purse, too malicious to be explained as simple greed.

Stephen picked up his cards and glanced at them. Carol watched his tongue move beneath his lip, caressing his eyetooth. It was a good hand. She wondered if Joe knew it too.

She threw in her cards.

"I fold."

"Too bad, what about you, Davis the Elder?"

Stephen placed the last of his money in the centre of the table. "I am willing to see it through."

Joe pushed all of his in.

"It seems we are both feeling luck is on our side."

Carol looked between them. There was a silent conversation she was not privy to passing between their gaze.

Stephen flipped his cards and Joe laughed. He turned his and won the pot.

"You have played well tonight, Danvers. Teddy and I will take our bad fortune home," Stephen stood, lifting his coat to place it about his shoulders.

"Play one more hand with mine, Stephen," Carol offered pushing her last dollar to him. Stephen hesitated. The others laughed.

"It must be nice to have a benefactor. One more hand. You and me. Both of us all in. We will see who luck favours," Joe taunted.

Stephen wanted to say no, but piled on the table was the same as his father's wage for a year. They could leave here. They could say goodbye to the Danvers and the mockery of those that knew their secret. Maybe they could start their own stable and breed horses as his father dreamed.

"Fine," Stephen sat again. Joe handed him the cards and Stephen dealt two hands. Losing meant nothing, but winning meant everything. Stephen did not bother to turn over his cards or look at them. He waited as Joe looked at his hand. He watched his face closely. The slight flaring of the nostrils. He had a bad hand.

Stephen went to pick up his cards.

"Wait," Joe interrupted. He reached across the table and covered Stephen's cards with his hand. "Our Father wants you to have an education."

Stephen froze. Joe had never spoken aloud of their shared paternity. Carol's eyes flew to Stephen. All three of them were caught in a vibrating tangle of gazes. Stephen retracted his hand.

"I don't understand."

Joe continued to pin Stephen's cards. He reached for his tankard with the other hand and drained it in one long swallow.

"He has engaged a teacher for you. He wants you to receive a gentleman's education and take your place at his side in the Mill."

"What about you?"

"I have been a disappointment," Joe nearly spit the words out. "But I have a trade. You and me. One last bet. Highest card wins. If you win, you can choose stay and become an heir to everything or take the money and leave. If I win, you take the money and never come back. Leave no clue where you have gone. Take your bitch of a mother and Davis if you want but you never look to the Danvers' fortune again."

Stephen grit his teeth at Joe's words. He was tempted to tell him he didn't want the Mill or anything that Danvers senior touched, but it was a sure bet. He couldn't lose.

He nodded and Joe collected the cards. He shuffled them and spread them like a fan across the table. Stephen picked first. He turned the card and a ten of clubs was revealed. A solid chance.

Beside him Carol trembled. She could have what she always wanted; Stephen as an acknowledged heir and the guarantee the Mill would be taken care of by a man who would not be cruel to the workers. She clenched her fists beneath the table as her heart beat hard against her ribs.

Joe picked his card, he smiled as he threw it across the table for all to see; the king of hearts.

"Goodbye Davis. Try not to let the sun rise on you."

Carol plucked up the card as she felt the urge to cry. She couldn't. She had to hold the tears at bay. Stephen said nothing as he began to neatly stack the bank notes.

Carol turned the card in the dim lamplight. She couldn't bear to look at the grinning king who was banishing her brother far away from her. At the top of the card was the smallest press of a fingernail. Her stomach dropped and adrenaline moved quickly through her veins. She stood so fast her chair clattered backwards. She pulled the cards towards her, her fast fingers plucking easily queens, aces and kings from the pile.

"Teddy, what in God's name," Stephen caught her wrist. She turned and gripped his shoulders tightly, shaking him a little.

"They've been marked. Every card is marked."

"Teddy leave it," Stephen said softly.

"No. No, you don't have to go," he could see the tears sparkling in her eyes. Her voice cracked. Was she numb to the stillness from the others? "They cheated."

Stephen dropped the money and grabbed her by the collar of her coat. He started to drag her towards the door as a deadly silence fell over the others.

"What did he say?" Joe's voice was ice.

"Nothing. We are going."

Carol broke away and turned to Joe, she leveled an accusing finger at him.

"You marked the cards so he would lose."

"Shut up," Stephen grabbed her by the scruff again and dragged her backward, leaving his coat, cane and money. All that was important now was getting Carol away from the three men that stalked towards them.

* * *

Yon had arrived late. He had been out of luck at the inns around the Danvers' estate. His plan had been to stay at an inn and then with the assistance of the house's steward find a suitable room to rent. To accommodate this uncertainty Mr. Danvers had allowed all of Yon's books to be shipped ahead to the Danvers' house and stored until a room could be found.

Being without luck at the inns, Yon had been forced to intrude on Mr. Danvers' kindness unexpectedly and beg a room for the night. He promised to remove himself with all possible efficiency. He had arrived well after dinner and had disturbed the household, to his surprise he was greeted warmly and offered a room and a meal promptly.

They even brought up his books so he could inspect them. He could not say enough to express his gratitude, their unknown fate had been weighing on him.

As he knelt in front of the battered chest and lifted out the first tome he felt he could breath easily for the first time in four months. The book was in fine condition, the case showing no sign of water damage.

How fitting the first book he plucked was _the Odyssey_?

It had been an unexpected change in plans, from the moment he had been injured in Greece to kneeling here in America.

He was about to open the book and read any passage to centre himself when he heard shouts from outside his window.

Yon moved quickly, his instincts had his hand reaching for a sabre that no longer hung at his side. He crossed to the window to look out.

Two figures tumbled out of a low building, a warm circle of light spilling from the door. It was dark, with barely a moon to illuminate the night. Yon narrowed his eyes, one figure was slighter, a boy in cap and trousers. The other was closer to a man, he was easier to see in the dark as he was in white shirtsleeves.

Following them were three men, two broad and tall, while the third was slimmer. This gang were the ones making the noise as they shouted and pointed. One thug seemed to hold a long weapon, a cane or a stick.

The man in shirtsleeves pushed the boy behind him, but the foolish youth kept darting forward, adding their voice to the calamity. The unarmed burly man shoved the boy to the ground and seemed about to put his boots to him when the other man dodged in front. His white clad body curled around the blow.

The boy began to scream for help, trying to struggle to his feet behind his protector. Without thinking Yon dashed from his room. He barely knew the house but he threw open doors until he found one that led to the kitchen. He tore across the grounds in time to see the man in white hunched over the boy and taking a ruthless beating from the canr. The boy was shaking and crying trying to scramble out from the protection of the man, who appeared to Yon to be the boy's brother.

The stupid whelp thought he could fight them.

Yon reached the circle as the man raised the cane again. Yon grabbed his arm as the thin man called out 'watch out Terrance.'

Like a useless lug Terrance turned to look at the man who spoke and not to Yon, who neatly forced his arm back until he dropped his weapon.

Yon caught it, heaving a kick to Terrance's knee so the man fell with a thud to the ground. Yon stepped quickly back as the man tried to claw at him, and answered his swinging fists with a sharp crack over the skull.

"What the devil are you doing on my property?" The slim man demanded.

"Teaching," Yon answered shortly tugging his coat tight to his shoulders again.

"Leave it, Terrance, Starkey. They aren't worth it." The man sneered and Yon felt particularly grateful he was not going to be his student. "I am Joe Danvers, this man tried to rob me. I hope we can agree my father does not need to know."

"It's a shame we couldn't meet under more dignified circumstances," Yon answered with an incline of his head. Danvers Jr said nothing but curled his lip and nodded to his compatriots, they ambled into the night and Yon pitied anyone who crossed their path.

When they were gone, Yon turned back to the pair on the ground. The boy was ashen with red-ringed eyes, he drew air in great gulping breaths at the same time as he tried to apologize profusely to the man slumped over him.

"Stephen, Stephen," he begged softly. "Say something."

"So you are Stephen Danvers?" Yon asked, he could feel the sweat running down his spine. His breathing heavier as the run and the tussle caught up with him. Two months confined on ship had weakened him.

"Davis," the man groaned as he straightened. "Stephen Davis. And you can tell the old man I won't be changing it."

The boy wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck and clung to him.

"Off me, Teddy, or I will pass out."

"Let's get him up," Yon instructed as Teddy ducked under one arm. Together they lifted the beaten man to his feet. He kept one arm tucked gingerly to his side. "We should call a doctor."

"They're butchers here," Stephen noted, looking Yon up and down. "They would rather amputate a limb than set it. I just need to rest."

"Let's go back to the house," Yon began to turn them but the youth dug in his heels.

"No, we can't. Let's go to the stables."

"Teddy is right."

Yon let the two odd characters lead him towards the stables. They barely talked as they shuffled together, except in the weird broken chain of communication that was moving an injured body. Davis bore it well but Yon could see the pain in his face.

Inside the barn was pitch black, they paused for a moment breathing in the smell of hay as one and listening to the rustling of horses.

"There is an apartment at the back. Can you climb the ladder, Stephen?" Teddy asked forcing them to move forward in the dark.

"I will have to do it one-handed."

They reached the bottom of the ladder and Yon went up first. He waited at the top as Stephen hauled himself slowly up the ladder. When he was near the top rung, Yon leaned out and braced him so they could stumble safely into the small loft.

"What kind of teacher are you?" Asked the young Teddy as he followed them up. Yon could hear him panting a little from the strain of dragging his brother across the yard.

"One that was in the army," Yon answered as he settled Stephen on the cot. "Light a lamp."

"Yes, sir," the boy mumbled and Yon could hear him rattling about and the striking of a match.

"You're from England," Davis observed redundantly as the oil lamp sputtered to life. Yon could see him clearly for the first time.

"Yes, I believe you are to be my first student."

"Did you come all the way for me?" Davis asked as Yon tilted his head checking the extent of the bruising around his eyes. A little blood trickled from his temple but nothing seemed permanently damaged.

"Not exactly, but your father's engaging me did influence my choice in settling."

"He isn't my father," Stephen's voice was firm and cold.

"Apologies. I must have misunderstood his implication."

"Should I go get the money, Stephen?" Teddy asked in his high anxious voice.

"They wouldn't have left it. Guaranteed it's in Starkey's pocket or Terrance's."

"I am sorry."

"Don't worry," Stephen hissed as Yon investigated his arm. It wasn't broken but badly injured as it had blocked much of the beating.

"So, you fought over money?"

"They cheated."

Yon turned to look at the boy who spoke so earnestly. He was pretty in the way youths were pretty, a charming turn up of his nose and a defiant line to his lips. Yon could not help laughing as he turned back to prod Stephen's ribs.

"And I suppose you pointed it out?"

"Why shouldn't I? People should be honourable."

"And they rarely are. Giving into anger will put you in dangerous positions. And force others to save you."

"I won't live like that."

"Or long," Yon parried as he stood. "I suppose you write with your right hand?"

"I do," Stephen answered, his voice flat.

"Bring your scribe," Yon directed, turning his head to look at Teddy. "Consider the labour a penance, assuming your family can spare you."

"They can't."

"They can," the boy said more forcefully locking eyes with his brother.

"I will leave you to sort it out. Clean up the blood if you can, it will help you feel more human."

With that Yon descended the ladder. It was obvious the siblings had more to talk about without an audience.

As soon as their saviour disappeared Carol found her limbs could move again. While he had been there she was trapped in his orbit, scared to leave Stephen by even the scantest inch. When he had appeared and dispatched Terrance efficiently, Carol had fought the urge to go to him, to cling and beg him to undo the events of the last three hours. To return them, by some ungodly power to what they had been that afternoon. For some reason she felt certain he had the ability to do it.

She went to the basin and wet a cloth with cold, scummy water that had been abandoned since the last time Davis had stayed in the apartment. She could feel Stephen's eyes on her and she wished he would rail at her and scream.

Silence seemed more deadly.

She returned to him and sat beside him on the bed so she could wipe away the blood and press the cold cloth to his swollen flesh.

"You aren't staying here tonight, Carol," Stephen said darkly, without turning his head to look at her. His eyes stayed fixed to where the stranger had been a moment before.

"You're hurt-"

"I mean it, go back to the house."

"What if-"

"Leave," Stephen commanded and Carol bit her tongue to stop the scream that wanted to jump out of her throat.

"Promise you will stay."

"Carol-"

"Promise."

"I will stay long enough to hear Danvers' offer. I won't be ungrateful to the man who saved me by wasting his journey."

Carol stood and pressed the cloth into his hand. She unwound her muffler and threw it on the bed in case he needed a sling. She moved wordlessly to the ladder, her jaw clamped tightly shut. All of her vibrated with anger and betrayal. Anger at herself for causing Stephen harm with her thoughtless words and actions.

And betrayal that she was not reason enough for him to stay.


End file.
